


Comfort Me

by baranduin



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:45:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP a day or so before Amon Hen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Me

I found him in a little clearing in the woods, close to a mile from our campsite. He was kneeling next to a small pile of wood. Yes, I remembered he had said that he would gather wood for the fire, though he had had no need to go such a distance to find it. In fact, it had been foolish of him to stray that far from us. It was not like Frodo to do that, especially since we were drawing so close to Rauros--to Mordor. Only a day or two more and I would show him the stone kings that guarded the river passage to Gondor.

Though a sharp rebuke was on my lips, I could not find it in my heart to chide him, especially not when he looked up at me with his unearthly blue gaze. Even at his most lighthearted--though I had seen little enough of that--it was almost impossible for me not to grow entranced just by looking into his eyes. There was something in them that called to me for--I did not know what, something that I feared I could not give. I had learned to steel myself when looking at him, for I could not afford to grow dull-witted on our journey. Dull-witted--besotted was a better way of putting it.

When I sat watch, I would let my mind wander a bit, musing over just what it was in Frodo's eyes that made it so difficult to concentrate on the solid things that commanded my attention. It was more than mere vulnerability--naked need with good cause for it. Sometimes I thought I saw a confused question deep within that burning blue. He would look at me and shake his head as though to ask, "Can you tell me why?" I could not tell him though I longed to hold him close and give him the comfort of my body. I never did that; instead, I started keeping myself apart from him as much as I could.

After that, I saw a different sort of confusion and knew I had caused it--had added to his unspeakable burden by turning away from him when, in truth, he had asked for very little. Even that had been too much for me to give. I told myself bitterly that if I had tried to give him comfort in the only way I knew how, it would have been worse. If I had done that, confusion would have turned to disgust and fear. He did not want me that way; he sought only understanding and a chaste caress of sympathy. I hated myself then for being a coward. It came to seem to me that nothing I did was right--all my choices as leader being ill-fated and just as ill-considered. If only I could have offered him just one brief moment of consolation with calm arms around him that did not tremble from desire for one who could not want me. And I could not even do that for him.

A time or two I found myself being shaken out of a deep reverie by Boromir or Legolas come to relieve my watch. The last time that happened, I told myself sternly that it was not safe for me to think about him even when I was alone, without his waking presence near me. And I did it, stopped thinking of him--stopped dreaming of how his small bones would feel under my hands and how the deep blue of his eyes would lighten as I soothed him with gentle lips.

Now he knelt by the small pile of wood. Though I had been looking for him, disquiet spiraling from my belly until I could not breathe properly, when I found him I felt shocked to see him. The sight of his small body crouched on the ground shocked me right through. He looked up at me, his confused look heightened by some touch of pain though he lowered his eyes quickly. Distancing myself from him on our journey had caused him to do that. He rarely looked me in the eye any more--somehow knew I did not want it though he did not know why.

My voice was harsh when I spoke, but he did not flinch. "Frodo? Why are you so far from camp? It's not safe."

"I know." His voice was so soft I barely heard it.

Walking to him, I knelt down and gentled my voice. "Then why? If you wanted to go so far, one of us would have come with you. We were all worried that something had happened to you."

He shook his head, his mouth a tight grimace. "Can't I even have a few minutes to myself?"

I had no reply. There was no reply I could give that would satisfy him. Peering closer at him, I saw that he cradled one hand as though he had hurt it.

"What's wrong with your hand?" I asked, reaching for it.

He surprised me with a light laugh. "Splinter."

"Is that all? Let me see." I pulled his hand into mine and pried open his fingers. His forefinger was a little swollen, a drop of blood at its tip. When I held it up to my eyes, I saw the ragged edge of quite a long splinter. "Oh, that is a big one. Can't you get it out?"

"No … it sort of slips away when I try to pull it out."

"Here … I'll do it." I sat back on my haunches and examined his wounded finger. When I tried to grasp the tip, it fell away from me, its edges ragged and slick. He drew a little closer to me as I worried at the small tear, pulling at his flesh a little. I smiled at him when he flinched. "Sorry … I'll try to be quick, but you have gotten it quite stuck."

"It's all right … just hurts a little."

I pulled his finger into my mouth and pushed up at the sliver, trying to work it out that way. It shifted upwards a little as I scraped my teeth against his skin. Catching the tip of the splinter in my teeth, I pulled it out quickly. Spitting it out, I said, "Got it!"

"Oh … thank you. It did hurt a bit, you know."

"I know. Those little wounds always seem to hurt the most sometimes." He tugged a little to draw his hand away, but I tightened my grip on him. Though I didn't need to do this, I could not help myself. I put his finger in my mouth again and sucked at the drops of blood that had welled up when I had pulled out the splinter. I closed my eyes at the tang of copper and salt and pine bark on my tongue, my first taste of him. The taste of him made my head spin.

When I opened my eyes and released his hand, I saw him looking up at me, his eyes a little bleary from the relief of having the splinter removed. There was something else, I thought, a weariness that pulled at my heart. How I wanted to pull him close and cradle him in my arms. My arms trembled a little at the need winding around me.

We sat still, gazing at each other. Finally, he sighed and said, "I'm so tired … just wanted to get away and think without anyone bothering me."

"And what were you thinking about?"

"What to do."

I nodded. "Have you decided?"

He said nothing, his only response a slight shake of his head that might have been a nod but might have been nothing more than a little shiver. The evening air was cool; he must have been chilled by it.

"I will go with you," I said softly, trying to reassure him.

An emphatic shake of his head this time. "No … you're needed in Minas Tirith."

There was nothing I could say to that, for it was true. I opened my mouth to speak, but he waved me into silence.

"Anyway … I haven't made up my mind yet. There's still a couple of days yet before I have to decide." He lowered his head and sat still, rubbing his sore finger and flushing from the lie he had just told me. Frodo wore his emotions openly. He had never learned to disguise them, and so I had seen the decision he had made reflected as clearly in his eyes as I had seen the lie. I said nothing--let him keep his little deception.

"We should go back," I said quietly and reached my hand out to touch his shoulder lightly. He did not draw back from me. Rather, he leaned into me and rested his head against my chest. With that little shift of his body, I was lost. No fears of what he would think of me, no thoughts of my duties--either to my companions or to my betrothed--found their way into me. There was nothing but his slight form pressed against me. I would not fail him this time.

I slipped my arms around him and pulled him close into my embrace, holding my breath as I waited for him to draw back. When he leaned closer and wrapped his arms around my neck, kneeling up a little, I sighed. We stayed quietly for a minute, swaying back and forth lightly. He felt so sweet in my arms that I prayed to be content just holding him like this. My body felt otherwise, and my prayer changed to a beseeching that he not feel my hardening length.

But he did feel it. When he pulled away, in my shame I was hard put to it to meet his eyes. He smiled at me. The curve of his full lips tilted almost lazily at their corners. It shocked me to see welcome in his mouth and eyes instead of disgust.

He lay back in my supporting arms and spoke in a whisper. "But I thought you didn't …the way you were always avoiding me …"

How many times could he surprise me? I shook my head. "I did not think you would want to … not with me, that is. So many times I wanted to hold you … comfort you … was afraid you would not want it."

He squirmed in my arms, his smile growing broader. "Then comfort me now."

Now that he was before me willingly, I did not know what to do. I did not know where to start. Looking down at him, I watched his chest rising and falling rapidly, his pulse beating in the hollow of his throat. Drawn to its flutter, I pressed my mouth against his throat. He moaned and arched his back to come closer. Such soft skin he had. I would find all his soft places and make him gasp with each new discovery--drive out his fear and confusion for a few minutes or hours. And my fear and confusion would melt away with his in our coupling.

I shook my head against his neck. No, I could not do that, not even if he wanted it. He was too small and fragile to take that way. We would satisfy each other with our lips and hands, and it would be enough. It would be enough to feel him in my arms and know that he wanted me--that he wanted the consolation of my body.

All of a sudden, I found myself lying on top of him, his arms strong and demanding around my neck. I laughed a little to myself at misjudging his strength yet again. Propping myself up on my elbow, I stroked his soft cheek, the fine line of his jaw, the full lips that I would taste. No, not taste--I would devour him as the weeks of wanting burst at last.

When I lowered my face to claim my first kiss, our noses bumped awkwardly. He smiled and shifted his head to one side, and our lips met. Still afraid of bruising him, I rubbed my lips lightly against his until he grew impatient. With a little "hmph," he pressed up hard, opening his mouth to me as I forgot all gentleness. He met me kiss for kiss, our tongues probing, licking. When he sucked my tongue hard into his mouth, I almost screamed at the sharp shock of pleasure rushing through me.

He was wanton now in his demands, rubbing himself against me, his small cock hard through his layers of clothes. Our bodies clashed again while we hastily undid fastenings and drew away shirts and tunics and breeches. I leaned up and laughed.

"What?" he asked, a little frown of perplexity in his eyes.

I shook my head as I answered him. "We wear far too many clothes."

He laughed in his turn. "Yes … oh, yes, we do. Especially you."

"Me? I'm not the one with the layers of shirt and weskit and jacket and mithril shirt and … and …"

"Yes, yes … all easily disposed of … not like these leggings." He tugged at their fastenings. "Why are they so complicated?"

I stroked his cheek with the backs of my fingers until I felt a shiver go through him. The desire flooding through me had made me forget the chill of the air. I drew my cloak around him though it deprived me of the sight of his beautiful, pale body.

"Warmer?" I asked.

"Yes … but your body will warm me even better."

I groaned as I pulled him tight and ran my hands across the smooth flesh of his naked back. His wantonness returned in full force as he writhed against me. It seemed as though he wanted to press his whole body into me, and I would have it so for it pleased me as well. Taking him by his shoulders, I pressed him into the ground with its dry leaves crackling beneath him. He shivered again when I rubbed my face up and down his chest, though this time it was not from the cold. When I pulled his small nipple into my mouth and teased it with my tongue, he cried out.

His stiff shaft pressed against me as I roamed up and down. Taking it in my hand, I marveled that such a velvet texture could cover such hardness. When I stroked it up and down, drawing my hand easily around it in a loose ring, he bucked upward with eager hips. His hands scrabbled at the ground until they found my shoulders and I felt their tight grip, his small fingers digging into me.

When I lowered my head to taste him, he cried out again. But he did not let me linger, though I could have stayed there all night with my mouth around him. He pulled me up, panting.

"What is it," I whispered.

"Come in me," he whispered back.

I shook my head. "No … you're too small … I'm too large."

His eyes softened. "I don't care."

"Well, I do … any way, I've nothing to ease my way. It would hurt you too much."

"Then be careful." He drew my fingers into his mouth, wetting them, and I was lost once more. I pulled him so hard to me that he gasped in my arms. Holding him with one arm, I trailed the other down his body, spreading his thighs apart and seeking his most secret place with my fingers. I found it and pressed around and around his soft, puckered flesh. Though I tried to go gently, when I pushed my finger inside him, he pressed up hard. He would have no gentleness now. His tight ring of flesh yielded to me and I pressed deep inside him, trembling at the heat of his willing body.

I wanted to go slowly, but I could no longer do so. Pushing him flat to the ground, I slid between his knees and quickly found that place I needed so much. Looking down at him--I was so high above him now--I asked, "Are you sure?"

He nodded and shut his eyes, his hands snaking around my hard cock straining at his opening. I stayed there, just swayed a moment as his hands stroked my shaft, cupped my sac and squeezed. Such pleasure from such small hands--it almost broke me. Unable to wait any longer, I moved his hands away gently and pushed but to no avail. I groaned. What a fool I had been to think this would work. I tried to draw away, but he pulled at me, thrusting his hips, and I tried again.

He screamed when I entered him, but he never stopped pulling at me and thrusting his slim hips upward. I was so lost in the feel of him--the heat, his soft bottom cushioning me, his hands digging into my sides--that I did not even think to take his cock in my hand to pleasure him. I heard nothing but our gasps and the slap of our bodies meeting. I smelled nothing but the scent of our bodies--sweat and dust and a sweetness that was all his. I felt nothing but my hardness pushing inside him--would that I could live my life inside his sweet body, replacing all his fear and sorrow with this … this … joy.

When he screamed again, I froze, thinking that I had thrust too hard and injured him. "Don't stop," he gasped. I began again, thinking--thinking? I had no thoughts--to go more gently, but he would not have it. "Harder," he hissed. "Like before. Aragorn … please!"

So I did. When he arched high and his seed splashed warm against us, I knew I had not hurt him--just the opposite. I smiled and raised my head to the night sky as I thrust long and fast. My legs trembled as I pushed hard one last time and climaxed deep inside him, my seed pulsing long and true.

I panted--we panted--as my spasms died down slowly. When I dropped down, I rolled aside, slipping gently from him and pulling him into my arms. He flopped there as though he was boneless, as was I. We lay together for a long minute while our breathing slowed.

Finally, he raised his head and looked at me, smiling. "See?"

I chuckled and nodded my head. "That I do."

He nodded with satisfaction and lay his head on my shoulder, running his fingers lightly across the hair on my chest. "And we won't avoid each other any more?"

"No … no …"

"Good."

We lay together quietly for a few more minutes. Too soon, we rose and dressed, smiling softly at each other but not speaking. We did not need to speak more words. They had all been said.

* * *

He has gone--gone across the River with Sam on his desperate task. He has left me alone. I am filled with prayers for his safety though I know they are useless, for where he has gone there is none. Still, I pray every day and night for his safety--and his return into my arms.


End file.
